Rennia stared at the uptight and upright upstart who sat in front of her. Maeve of House Kastellarys was a handful, honestly, and Rennia didn't want to spend an eternity with her overbearing remarks. Without the hood she normally hid her face under—which she claimed was to hide her beauty from commoners—she was indeed very beautiful. Beautiful enough to make Rennia jealous: soft, fuller lips, pale skin, dark brooding hair, and eyebrows that could lift a body. Her only issue was her personality. She only needed to survive it for a few hours.
Hopefully.
Dontellin was driving them toward the dungeon, which resided on the Ivarkant plains, a few miles southwest of the city. The drive there had been horrendous with the overbearing sun at play. The wobbling cart was starting to give Rennia headaches, and the upper-class girl even more so.
"So... my ladies—a bit strange to take two unaccompanied women far out of the city, especially with one as noble as you, miss... ahem—"
Maeve folded her arms, chin turned upward. "You will speak when spoken to, commoner. I will not dirty my sight with your baseless demeanor."
He was distasteful, but at least his manners were a step above hers, Rennia thought.
Dontellin snorted. "Yet here you are, sitting on my cart, carried by a trusty steed I found on some poor farmer's backwater plot. Strange how fate can be, your highness."
Maeve blushed slightly—actually blushed—and her lips quivered. No other words came out except, "Shut up." Rennia found it amusingly cute but shook her head anyway. Was it that easy to throw her off guard? Throw yourself under her feet and practically lick her boots?
Dontellin started whistling, his head turning toward a river passing under the bridge they approached. The horse at the front neighed, stopping its gallop and planting its hooves on the ground. "I wouldn't cross a ridge like that if you paid me. But you monster-hunting dames should do okay. Afraid I can't go no further."
Rennia prepared herself mentally. It was better this way—they were going into rugged and dangerous territory. The landmark on the map stated that the dungeon entrance had appeared here not too long ago, so it should be relatively nearby within the marked area. Being on a cart would dull her skills if anything came at them.
"Perhaps coin would entice you to drive forward, cartman?" Maeve offered.
"Afraid coin won't buy us out of this one. Time to go on foot, unless your uptight heels are too clean for the muddy ground," Rennia teased.
"Don't mock me!" Maeve flushed and threw herself off the cart in a mild-mannered rage.
Dontellin put his hands on Rennia's shoulders. "So, I haven't known you that long, Rennia of Perillion, but despite the annoyances and contrivances I've forced you to put up with, I would hate to see you get turned into a meat puddle. Are you sure it's a low-level dungeon? What ever do we say to your associate?"
Maeve perked up, but didn't inquire. Much better that way, at any rate.
She gently pushed his hands off. "Relax, this is standard maintenance work. A dungeon scout likely appraised the site before reporting it. It's nothing, really. We'll be fine."
He made his weird moaning noise, complained, and turned back to the cart. Rennia threw the backpack full of their gear onto her back: medicine should she get ill or poisoned, rations if hunger plagued them, and a bedroll should they be forced to sleep inside.
It was a good thing Maeve had her own supplies—not that she minded sharing.
Dungeons could be huge, stretching for miles on end. Not to mention natural ones always changed based on input and time. Natural ones also didn't spawn from spells, rituals, or system-induced disasters. They were more often than not geological scars—wild wounds of the world itself. And they did go dormant occasionally or wake up if disturbed. Guilds didn't necessarily clear natural ones, just used them as resource depots to harvest and contain. Rennia always saw it as a moral failure—so many desperate adventurers had given their lives for an inkling of magical gold.
And here she was taking that same path. Loot, gold, and levels. Mana crystals were a first for her, though.
Maeve started creeping closer to her, standing behind Rennia almost sheepishly. Rennia saw that she had a long scroll-like paper in her hand. She was curious but not curious enough to ask about it in front of Dontellin. So she waited until Dontellin was well away before Rennia mustered the courage to ask the annoying noble about it.
"Nice scroll you have there. Is it for spellcasting?"
"I shan't say. What do you think it is? Worry not, pleb—I specialize in five different schools of magic. All you have to do is focus on stabbing things. Perhaps maybe then you could be level 12 like I am." Rennia hid her smile. "What's so special about a pathfinder anyway? A brute like you should be a warrior instead—much more traditional for the Osterrian caste."
Well, that wasn't so far from what she had intended. But ever since Ishmere had woken her up to the world of magic, the situational prospect had been quite a strange ordeal.
Rennia took her own grimoire out of the backpack like it was some shiny toy she needed to show to her friend. "Look, you're not the only one who can do magic."
Maeve took the grimoire from her and observed it from top to bottom. "Woefully generic grimoire. I'm seeing one spell at most, and it's pretty pathetic. Not far along, are you..."
Rennia felt a little disappointed. She had tried opening up along the way, but Maeve was as stubborn as a rock. "Nothing surprises you, it seems."
"No, no. Generally not." She gave the grimoire back, very aggressively so. "Why didn't we take the cart? You know the man—why not ask him to take us deeper?"
If she didn't understand, then that explained a lot. Maeve had likely never been that exposed to the outside world, from the sound of it. Even more so, Rennia's suspicions were screaming—what was she doing in Ivarkant with a hood, sitting at the adventurers' guild? Surely other professions existed for highborn folk.
"Maeve, listen. You have to be dead honest with me. Is this your first delve? Be completely honest. You mentioned something about being experienced back home."
Maeve turned her head away, refusing to look Rennia in the eye. She didn't answer, which explained a lot to Rennia. She wasn't even supposed to be here, was she? But she was, and she was Rennia's problem. If anything, Rennia had agreed too fast with Mara, but the effort it would take to find a team would be full of nonsense—sorting loot, shares, coin, and even then splitting something like an entry-level dungeon with two or more people she didn't know would be a disaster.
"There are a few reasons we don't want carts near or inside the dungeon. Around dungeons, mana is unstable. Sometimes the horses might get spooked, or critters will knowingly mess up the wheels, leaving it stranded. These things happen—it's not safe for Dontellin or any form of unguarded transport, really."
"Hmph, I knew that," she hissed. "I'm just saying I want this over and done with."
Basic logistics wasn't something you glossed over. That was a dangerous thing to do—she knew from experience. "I do believe it's time we get moving. Time flows slightly differently in dungeons," Rennia answered, her instincts fresh and renewed with the prospect of jabbing her blade into the flesh of some beast.
Rennia took a long look at "Lady" Maeve's gear, if you could even call it gear. She was wearing knee-length shorts, small bits of cloth armor around her robes, and carrying her spellbook in one hand. She wasn't fit for defense, and if she expected magic to carry her through the delve, she was horribly wrong. The heels didn't help—she was unsuited for hiking, much less delving, and was currently serving as a distraction for Rennia's eyes.
Maeve started moving slowly ahead onto the path, and Rennia's eyes trailed as her shorts rode up her thighs, hitching a little higher with every step, creeping and making it skin-tight. She couldn't help but stare at her—it was right there. Maeve's thighs caught the light of the sun, and Rennia's eyes followed them.
Don't stare so much, Rennia. She's probably not into you. It's a bad idea. As a matter of fact, she's a brat. But she's also had this weird softness to her under the gothic makeup. Her behind, that interior, was just threatening to spill out.
Nope. Not now, get it together.
Maeve paused before striding further. She pointed at a mound in a field past a tree clearing. Rennia didn't hear much of anything except the words "I think that's it." She nodded and let the sorceress stay in front, her eyes drifting onto Maeve's ass once again. Her gaze got stuck, fixated, as her cheeks moved in rhythm.
Rennia startled herself, pinching her arm. Is this what she'd come to—objectification? On the other hand, she couldn't help herself. Her urges demanded she use her "power," develop it with intent.
This was going to be a long day. But hopefully the dungeon provided enough distractions.
As they got nearer, for the first time, Rennia felt something she hadn't before in her life: the presence of mana in all its being. This was because of [Mana Sense]—not something she had felt before as a [Hayseed Jack]. It was overwhelming, and it tore her eyes off Maeve's butt in an instant.
"Do you feel that?" she asked Maeve.
"What? Feel what?"
"The pressure in the air." She stopped, put her hands on her sides, and took a deep breath.
"The mana? That's nothing. While I haven't delved, as you put it, I've walked in dungeons before with associates. I thought someone with more experience would be used to it. Is this because you're a pathfinder? You said your class changed before—what was it? Something common, no doubt."
"[Hayseed Jack], level 11," she said warily, a bit fearful of the reception.
"Level 11! But you're level 4 now. Explain it—" She seemed a bit surprised. "Uh, never mind. A jack of all trades, and it stops there. How weird. And what were the conditions that changed your class?"
Rennia put her finger over her lips. "Afraid I can't say. You'll have to earn my trust." Maeve's eyes narrowed, and they kept moving. A few minutes in, the mana sensing had gotten somewhat normal, and Rennia refocused on the girl in front of her.
No. Bad idea, Rennia. She's a walking headache. She's probably a virgin too. And a mage—could hex you easily enough. She's probably spiteful enough.
Maeve turned sharply, catching her looking down. "Why are you walking so awkwardly? Shouldn't you be front and center?"
"Um, just keeping an eye on rear threats, just in case. You know, it gets pretty dangerous out here."
"Right. Like your threat detector is located halfway down my spine." She huffed. "Still, I don't blame you—a commoner such as yourself will bask in the presence of an elite like me."
Okay, this was getting annoying. But at least she was in the clear—her impulses had nearly gotten her caught. Rennia took the initiative and started striding forward, in front of the sorceress, slightly flustered at her behavior.
It didn't take long to reach the base of the mound. The entrance was dark and hollow, but there was clearly sunlight coming from within. The moss at the entrance grew in strange fractal shapes, and vines tangled like a head of hair. The air was thick, and everything in the surroundings was too quiet.
Rennia stopped and turned to Maeve. "Well, this is it. Do you want to take a moment to breathe, test the waters?"
Maeve tensed eerily and shook her head. "I... I'm ready. Let's just get this over with."
Their job was simple: pick some ore off the walls and head back—about 100 small crystals each—and keep the rights to any loot they picked up. Simple enough.
In theory.
Maeve got ahead of herself and entered quickly. Rennia followed suit, a bit tense. There was a pressure drop, and she felt something shift. Maeve stepped forward, and her feet landed too loudly on something—a pressure plate.
"Maeve!" Rennia yelled, grabbing her by the backpack and pulling her back, causing the two of them to collide against each other. A massive wooden log fell from a hidden pocket, and the spiked log hit the ground, splattering into wooden splinters.
Maeve gasped, and Rennia was holding her a bit too tightly. The noble turned pale and shook herself out of Rennia's arms. "I... I didn't see that," she stated, shaking, her breathing ragged. Rennia hadn't either.
"It's fine. It happens. Probably wouldn't have killed you, but still—you're okay."
Maeve grunted loudly. "It's not fine. Nevertheless, we must move onward."
"Wait, girl. You were nearly skewered. I think we should take a breather before we move on."
Maeve sighed, but then she put everything down. Rennia stared at her for a while—she didn't appear to be as proud as she'd let on earlier. Her voice was softer; she was shaken, probably.
Rennia put her items down as well, clasped her sword, and circled around, staring at the earthy and cavernous pathways that led deeper into the dungeon. Moss, rock, and stone—unassuming, but the trap didn't feel natural. A booby trap at the entrance was awfully suspicious, especially for a natural one. Foul play, maybe. Could report it, would probably be written off.
But crystals awaited her, and she wanted to be back by nightfall.